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OBSERVATIONS
05 THE
GROWTH OF THE MIND.
BY SAMPSON REED.
Continued.
haps never to be used ; but the latent affections, as
they expand under proper culture, absolutely re
quire the truth to receiye them, and its first use is
the very nutriment it affords. It is not more diffi
cult for the tree to return to the seed from which it
sprung, than for the man who has learned thus,
to cease to remember. The natural sciences are
the basis of all useful knowledge, alike important
to man in whatever time, place or condition he
is found. They are coeval with our race, and
must continue so long as the sun, moon and stars
endure. Before there were facts for the pen of
history to record, or vices for the arm of law to
restrain, or nations for the exhibition of institu
tions for the government of themselves and in
tercourse with each other, at the very creation,
these were pronounced good in the general bene
diction ; and when history shall have finished her
tale of sin and woe, and law shall have punished
her millions of offenders, and civil society shall
have assumed every possible form, they will re
main the same as when presented in living char
acters to the first parents of the human race.
Natural philosophy seems almost essential to
an enlightened independence of thought and ac
tion. A man may lean upon others, and be so
well supported by an equal pressure in all di
rections, as to be apparently dependent on no one;
but his independence is apt to degenerate into
obstinacy, or betray itself in weakness, unless his
mind is fixed on this unchanging basis. A know
ledge of the world may give currency to his sen
timents, and plausibility to his manners; but it is
more frequently a knowledge of the world that
gives light to the path, and stability to the pur
poses. By the one he may learn what coin is
current, by the other what possesses intrinsic val
ue. The natural world was precisely and pcr
fectlv adapted to invigorate and strengthen the
intellectual and moral man. Its first and highest
use was not to support the vegetables which
adorn, or the animals which cover its surface ; nor
yet to give sustenance to the human body ; —it
has a higher and holier object, in the attainment
of which these are only means. It was intended
to draw forth and mature the latent energies of
the soul; to impart to them its own verdure and
freshness ; to initiate them into its own mysteries ;
and by its silent and humble dependence on its
Creator, to leave on them, when it is withdrawn
by death, the full impression of his likeness.
It was the design of Providence, that the in
fant mind should possess the germ of every
scienee. If it were not so, they could hardly be
learned. The care of God provides for the flow
er of the field a place wherein it may grow, re
gale with its fragance, and delight with its beauty.
Is his providence less active over those to whom
this flower offers its incense ? No. The soil
which produces the wine in its most healthy lux
uriance is not better adapted to the end, than the
world we inhabit to draw forth the latent energies
of the soul, and fill them with life and vigor.—As
well might the eye see without light, or the ear
hear without sound, as the human mind be healthy
and athletic without descending into the natural
world and breathing the mountain air. Is there
ought in eloquence, which warms the heart? —
She draws her fire from natural imagery. Is
there aught in poetry, to enliven the imagination ?
There is the secret of all her power. Is there
ought in science to add strength and dignity to the
human mind? The natural world is only the
body, of which she is the soul. In books, science
is presented to the eye of the pupil, as it were in
a dried and preserved state ; the time may come
when the instructor will take him by the hand,
and lead him by the running streams, and teach
him all the principles of science as she comes
from her Maker, as he would smell the fragrance
of the rose without gathering it.
This love of nature, this adaptation of man to
the place assigned him by his heavenly Father,
this fulness of the mind as it descends into the
works of God, is something which has been felt
by every one, though to an imperfect degree ;
and therefore needs no explanation. It is the
part of science, that this be no longer a blind tif
fection ; but that the mind be opened to a just
perception of what it is which it loves. The af
fection which the lover first feels for his future
wife, may be attended only by a general sense of
her external beauty; but his mind gradually
opens to a perception of the peculiar features of
the soul, of which the external appearance is only
an image. So it is with nature. Do we love to
gaze on the sun, the moon, the stars, and the
planets? This affection contains in its bosom
the whole science ot astronomy, as the seed con
tains the future tree. It is the” office of the in
structor to give it an existence and a name, by
making known the laws which govern the mo
tions of the heavenly bodies, the relation of these
bodies te each other, and their uses. Have we
felt delight in beholding the animal creation, in
watching their pastimes and their labors? It is
the office of the instructer to give birth to this af
fection, by teaching the different classes of ani
mals, with their peculiar characteristics, which
inhabit the earth, air and sea. Have we known
the inexpressible pleasure of beholding the beau
ties of the vegetable world? This affection can
onlv expand in the science ot botany. Thus it
is that the love of nature in the mass, may be
come the love of all the sciences, and the mind
will grow and bring forth fruit from its own in
herent power of development. Thus it is that
memorv refers lo the growth and expansion ot
the mind ; and what is thus, as it were, incmpo
inted into its substance, can be forgotten only by
a change m the direction of the affections, 01 t ic
course of conduct of the individual analogous to
that in his physical man, by which his very flesh
and bones are exchanged for those of a different
texture ; nor does he then entirely cease to re
member, inasmuch as he preserves a sense of his
own identity. fT)
It is in this way the continual endeavor ot I res
idence, that the natural sciences should be the
spontaneous production of the human mind. I o
these should certainly be added, poetry and mu
sic ; for when we study the works of God as we
should, we cannot disregard that inherent beauty
and harmony in which these arts originate.
These occasion in the mind its first glow of de
light, like the taste of food, as it is offered to the
mouth ; and the pleasure they afford, is a pledge
of the strength and manhood afterwards imparted
by the sciences.
By poetry is meant all those illustrations of
truth by natural imagery, which spring from the
fact, that this world is the mirror of Him who
made it. Strictly speaking, nothing has less to
do with fiction than poetry. The day will come,
and it may not be far distant when this art will
have another test of merit than mere versification,
or the invention of strange stories; when the laws
by which poetry is tested will be as fixed and im
mutable as the laws of science ; when a chango
will be introduced into taste corresponding to
that which Bacon introduced into philosophy, by
which both will be confined within the limits of
things as they actually exist. It would seem that
genius would be cramped ; that the powers of in
vention would be destroyed ; by confining the
human mind, as it were, at home, within the
bounds which nature has assigned. But what
wider scope need it have? It reaches the throne
of God; it rests on his footstool. All things
spiritual and natural are before it. There is as
much that is true as false ; and truth presented
in natural imagery, is only dressed in the gar
ments which God has given it.
The imagination was permitted for ages to in
volve the world in darkness, by putting theory in
the place of fact; till at length the greatest man
revealed the simplest truth, that our researches
must be governed by actual observation. God is
the source of all truth. Creation (and what truth
does not result from creation ?) is the effect of the
Divine Love and Wisdom. Simply to will and
to think, with the Divine Being, result in creating ;
in actually producing those realities, which form
the ground work of the thoughts and affections
of man. But for the philosopher to desire a
thing, and to think that it existed, produced noth
ing but his own theory. Hence it was necessary
that he should bring his mind into coincidence
with things as they exist, or, in other words, with
the truth.
Fiction in poetry must fall with theory in
science, for they depend equally on the works of
creation, The word fiction, however, is not in
tended to be used in its most literal sense ; but
to embrace whatever is not in exact agreement with
the creative spirit of God. It belongs to the true
poet to feel this spirit, and to be governed bv it; to
be raised above the senses; to live and breathe in
the inward efforts of things ; to feel the power
of creation, even before he sees the effect ; to
witness the innocence and smiles of nature’s in
fancy, not by extending the imagination back to
chaos, but by raising the soul to nature’s origin.
The true poetic spirit, so far from misleading any,
is the strongest bulwark against deception. It
is the soul of science. Without it, the latter is a
cheerless, heartless study, distrusting even the
presence and power of Him to whom it owes its
existence. Os all the poetry which exists, that
only possesses the seal of immortality, which
presents the image of God which is stamped on
nature. Could the poetry which now prevails be
viewed from the future, when all partialities and
antipathies shall have passed away, and things
are left to rest on their own foundations ; when
good works shall have dwindled into insignifi
cance, from the mass of useless matter that may
have fallen from them, and bad ones shall have
ceased to allure with false beauty ; we might
catch a glimpse of the rudiments of this divine
art, amid the weight of extraneous matter by
which it is now protected, and which it is destined
to throw off. The imagination will be refined into
a chaste and sober view of unveiled nature. It
will be confined within the bounds of reality. It
will no longer lead the way to insanity and mad
ness, by transcending the works of creation, and,
as it were, wandering where God has no power
to protect it; but finding a resting place in every
created object, it will enter into it and explore its
hidden treasures, the relation in which it stands
to mind, and reveal the love it bears to its Crea
tor.
The state of poetry has always indicated the
state of science and religion. The gods are
hardly missed more, when removed from the
temples of the ancients, than they are when ta
ken from their poetry ; or than theory is, when
taken from their philosophy. Fiction ceases to be
pleasing when it ceases to gain credence ; and
what they admired in itself, commands much o
its admiration now, as a relic of antiquity,
painting which in a darkened.room only impres
sed us with the reality, as the sun rises upon it,
discovers the marks ol the pencil , and that
shade of the mind can never again return, which
gave to ancient poetry its vividness and its power.
Os this we may be sensible, by only considering
how entirely powerless it would be, il poetry in
all respects similar, were produced at the present
day. A man’s religious sentiments, and his
knowledge of the sciences, are so entirely inter
woven with all his associations ; they shed such
liidit throughout every region of the mind, that
nothing can please which is directly opposed to
them; —and though the forms which poetry may
offer may sometimes be presented where this
light begins to sink into obscurity, they should
serve, like the sky and the clouds, as a relief to
the eye, and not, like some unnatural body pro
truding on the horizon, disturb the quiet they are
intended to produce. When there ‘‘shall be a re
ligion which shall see God in everything, and at
all times; and the natural sciences, not less than
nature itself, shall be regarded in connection with
Him ; the fire of poetry will begin to be kindled
in its immortal part, and will burn without con
suming. The inspiration so often feigned, will
become real, and the mind of the poet will feel
the spark which passes from God to nature. The
veil will be withdrawn, and beauty and innocence
displayed to the eye ; for which the lascivious
ness of the imagination and the wantonness ol
desire may seek in vain.
There is a language not of words, but of things.
When this language shall have been made appa
rent, that which is human will have answered its
end ; and being as it were resolved into its origi
nal elaments, will lose itself in nature. The use
of language is the expression of our feelings and
desires—the manifestation of the mind. But ev
erything which is, whether animal or vegetable, is
full of the expression of that use for which it is
designed, as of its own existence. If we did
but. understand its language, what could our words
add to its meaning ? It is because we are un
willing to hear, that we find it necessary to say X
much ; and we drown the voice of nature with
the discordant jargon of ten thousand dialects.—
Let a man’s language be confined to the expres
sion of that which actually 7 belongs to his own
mind ; and let him respect the smallest blade
which grows, and permit it to speak tor itself.—
Then may there be poetry, which may not be
written perhaps, but which may” be felt as a part
of our being. Everything which surrounds us is
full of the utterance of one word, completely 7 ex
pressive of its nature. This word is its name ;
for God, even now, could we but see it, is crea
ting all things, and giving a name to every work
of his love, in its perfect adaptation to that for
which it is designed. But man has abused his
power, and has become insensible to the real char
acter of the brute creation ; still more so to that
of inanimate nature, because, in his selfishness,
he is disposed to reduce them to slavery. There
fore he is deaf. We find the animal world either
in a state of savage wildness, or enslaved submis
sion. It is possible, that, as the character of man
is changed, they may attain a midway condition
equally removed from both. As the mind of
man acknowledges its dependence on the Divine
Mind, brutes may add to their instinct submission
to human reason ; preserving an unbroken chain
from our Father in Heaven, to the most inanimate
parts of creation. Such may be supposed to
have been the condition of the animal on which
the King of Zion rode into Jerusalem ; at once
free and subject to the will of the rider. Every
thing will seem to be conscious of its use ; and
man will become conscious of the use of every
thing.
It may be peculiar, and is said with deference
to the opinions of others, but to my 7 ear, rhymes
add nothing to poetry, but rather detract from its
beauty 7 . They possess too strongly 7 the marks of
art; and produce a sameness which tires, and
sometimes disgusts. We seek for them in vain
in nature, and may therefore reasonably presume
that they spring out of the peculiar state of the
public taste, without possessing any real founda
tion in the mind itself; that they are rather the
fashion of the dress than any 7 essential part. In
the natural world we find nothing which answers
to them, or feels like them, but a happy assem
blage of living objects springing up, not in straight
lines and at a fixed distance, but in God’s own or
der, which by its apparent want of design, con
veys the impression of perfect innocence and hu
mility 7. It is not for that which is human to be
completely divested of the marks of art ? but
every approach towards this end, must be an ap
proach towards perfection. The poet should be
free and unshackled as the eagle ; whose wings,
as he soars in the air, seems merely to serve the
office of a helm, while he moves on simply by
the agency 7 of the will.
By music is meant not merely that which exists
in the rational world, whether in the song of an
gels or men ; not merely the singing of birds and
the lowing of cattle, by” which the animal world
express their affections and their wants —but that
harmony which pervades also all orders of crea
tion ; the music of the harp of universal nature,
which is touched by the ray of the sun, and
whose song is the morning, the evening and the
seasons. Music is the voice of God, and poetry
liis language, both in his Word and works. r rps,h f ,
one is to the ear, what the other is to the
Every child of nature must feel their influence
There was a time when the human mind was i n
more perfect harmony with the Divine Mind, than
the lower orders of creation ; and the taleofti le
harp of Orpheus, to which the brutes, the
bles, and the rocks listened, is not altogether un
founded in reality; but when the selfish and
worldly passions usurped the place of love to our
God and our neighbor, the mind of man began to
be mute in its praise. The original order was re
versed. The very stones cry 7 out, and we do well
to listen to them.
There is a most intimate and almost insepera
hle connection between poetry and music. This
is indicated by the fact that they are alwavs uni
ted. Nothing is sung which has not some pre
tensions to poetry ; and nothing has any preten
sions to poetry in which there is not something of
music. A good ear is essential to rhythm ; and
rhythm is essential to verse. It is the perfection
of poetry, that it addresses two senses at once,
the ear and the eye ; that it prepares the affec
tions*for the object before it is presented ; that it
sends light through the understanding, by forming
a communication between the heart of man and
the works of God. The character of music must
have alway 7 s harmonized witli that of poetry. It
is essential to the former that it should be in agree
ment with our feelings ; for it is from this circum
stance that it derives its power. That music
which is in unison with the Divine Mind, alone
deserves the name. So various is it found in the
different conditions of man, that it is hardly re
cognized as the same thing. There is music in
the war-song of the savage, and in the sound for
battle. Alas! bow unlike that music, which
proclaimed peace on earth and good will towards
men. Poetry and music, like virtuous females iu
disguise, have followed our race into the darkest
scenes to which the fall has brought them. We
find them in the haunts of dissipation and vice ;
in the song of revelry and lewdness. We meet
them again, kindling the fire of devotion at the
altar of God ; and find them more and more per
fect as we approach their divine origin.
There prevail at present two kinds of music,
as diverse as their origins—profane and religious.
The one is the result of the free, unrestrained ex
pression of natural feelings; the other, of a kind
which indicates that those feelings are placed un
der restraint. In the one, there is often some
thing of sensuality ; in the other, of sadness.—
There is a point in moral improvement, in which
the sensual will be subdued, and the sorrowful
disappear ; which will combine the pleasure of
the one with the sanctity of the other. When
a sense of the presence of God shall he co-ex
tensive with the thoughts of the mind, and reli
gion shall consecrate every word and action of
our lives, the song of Zion will be no longer sung
in a strange land. The Divine Love, the soul
and essence of music, will descend, not in the
thunders of Sinai, but will seem to acquire
volume, as it tunes the heart in uuison with itself,
and the tongue in unison with the heart. The
changes in the character of our music, which may
be the effect of the gradual regeneration of the
world, are hardly 7 within the reach of conjecture.
Enough has been said to illustrate generally
the influence of the natural world in the develop
ment of the mind. The actual coudttion of so
ciety operates to produce the same effect, with
hardly less power. In this are comprised the re
ligious and civil institutions of one’s own country;
that peculiar character in which they originate;
and a knowledge of the past, as, by disclosing
the origin and progress of things, it throws light
on the prospect actually before us. As the phi
losophy connected with the natural world is that
in which the mind may take root, by which it
may possess an independence worthy 7 a being
whose eternal destiny is in his own hands—so the
moral and civil institutions, the actual condition
ol society, is the atmosphere which surrounds and
protects it; in which it sends forth its branches,
an bears fruit. The spiritual part of man is as
really a substance as the material ; and is as ca
pable of acting upon spirit, as matter is upon
matter. It is not from words of instruction and
advice, that the mind of the infantderives its first
impetus ; it gathers strength from the warmth of
those affections which overshadew it, and is nour
ished by a mother’s love, even before it has at
tained the power of thought. It is the natural
tendency of things, that an individual should be
brought into a situation, in which the external
condition oi the place, and the circle of society
in which he is, are particularly adapted to bring
forth to view his hereditary character. The ac
tual condition ol the human mind is, as it were,
the solid substance, in which the laws ol moral
and intellectual philosophy and political economy
(whate er may be their quality) exist embodied,
as the natural sciences do in the material world,
A knowledge of those laws, such as they exist, is
the natural consequence of the development of
the affections by which a child is connected with
those that surround him. The connection of
mind is not less powerful or universal than that
of matter. All minds, whatever may be their
condition, are not unconnected with God ; and,
consequently, not unconnected with each other.
To be Continued.